Normal Again
by Akimbo And Askew
Summary: After the Battle for Hogwarts, Ron discovers that he must do some growing up if he wants to help heal Hermione's scars.
1. Bring Him Home

A/N: Set immediately after _Deathly Hallows_, focusing primarily on Hermione but with a a fair amount devoted to Ron's development (While I love this pairing, I find that Ron seems much too immature to suddenly be the Ron of the epilogue. But them, that's what happens when you leap ahead 19 years without laying in any long-term character development. No, I'm not bitter. Really).

All the characters belong to J.K. Rowling, et al.

* * *

**May 13, 1998**

Sickly green electricity crackled through the still air. An other-worldly breeze swirled around three figures, suddenly warping into twin whirls. Two of the figures, who had moments before lain on the rough ground, began to rise into the air. Hovering in the whirlwinds, their bodies began to glow dully. The remaining figure raised her hands, guiding the figures in the air. The electricity turned a pure white and, at a flick of the figure's wrist, entered the floating pair. The figure inhaled sharply, brushing sweaty curls out of her face. She strained with the power she poured out of her hands, through the electricity, and into the whirlwinds. Around them, the air began to whisper—names, words, sounds. The figure smiled.

_It was working_.

Suddenly, a bright green bolt coursed through the connection, knocking the figure onto her back. Desperately, she stumbled back up, raising her hands once more. Again, the green light threw her away from the bodies and their whirls, closing her out of the spell she had created. Hitting her head against the floor, the figure searched her mind.

_"How did I let this happen?"_

**May 6, 1998**

"Is there anything else I can help with, Mrs. Weasley?"

Hermione enchanted a set of chairs, sending them out of the Burrow and into its garden. Molly lifted her head, looking from Hermione to her husband, setting up the awning. Her eyes fell on the simple urn, etched with an ornate W.

"No, dear," she sighed. "Once you're done with the chairs, go see that the boys are ready." Molly seemed to float away. Hermione turned back to the chairs, which were multiplying under Arthur's finished tent. She gave him a weak smile as he returned to the house, following his wife into the kitchen.

Satisfied with the seating arrangement, Hermione turned and made her way up the stairs. She stopped first at Bill and Charlie's room, where Bill and his wife rocked a napping Victoire. Hermione met their red eyes.

"Everything is set up. The others will probably be here soon," she told them. Bill nodded and rose to adjust his dress robes.

"Thank you, 'ermione," whispered Fleur. Carefully, Hermione closed Bill's door and continued through the endless corridor. In Percy's room, she found Charlie sitting with his dumbfounded brother.

The entire family was wracked by Fred's death, but Percy seemed to take it harder than any of them, save George. Hermione knew that he was overwhelmed with guilt for his actions during the escalation; he regretted spending the last years of his brother's life estranged from the family. Since the final battle, Percy had done little more than sit and stare into a void. Hermione rarely saw him eat and didn't know if he had slept. Charlie, who had spent nearly as much time away from the family (though under kinder circumstances) took it upon himself to care for his shell-shocked brother.

"Is it time?" Charlie asked, his eyes never leaving Percy.

"Just about," replied Hermione.

Percy blinked back another tear and stood.

"We should go downstairs, then."

Charlie started and eyed his brother with shock. Nobody had heard him speak in days.

"Yes," said Charlie slowly, "we should, shouldn't we?" Hermione offered them another weak smile and shut the door behind them.

As she reached the flight of stairs leading to Ron's room, Hermione took a moment to let her own feelings wash over her. She gripped the banister with the sudden rush.

After the Battle for Hogwarts, Harry and Hermione had accompanied the Weasleys back to the Burrow to mourn. Harry went so far as to tell Shacklebolt that he needed some "bloody time away with his family." Once they had settled in, Harry devoted his days to Ginny, listening when she cried, keeping a safe distance when she demanded to be left alone, and returning in a heartbeat the moment she began to tremble. Hermione had tried to give herself to Ron in the same way but was met with complete resistance. Ron wanted nothing more than to be alone. He had spoken to no one. Instead, he had taken to violently fixing up the garden, muttering that it had sure as hell better look nice for his brother.

Hermione knew that Ron was grieving in his own way, but she was angry that he had overlooked that _she too_ might need to grieve. Fred may have been Ron's brother, but he had always treated Hermione like another little sister. Hell, during first and second years, Hermione had harbored a small crush on him—he was sweeter than George, after all. Being who she was, Hermione had thrown herself into helping Arthur and Molly prepare for Fred's funeral. She had accompanied Arthur to the Weasley safe box at Gringotts (thankfully unharmed during the bank's destruction) to retrieve Fred's will.

Hermione had been surprised that Fred had had the forethought to make one so young, but Arthur explained that he had encouraged each of his children to do so when they came of age. A cousin had once died young without one, and apparently the ensuing feud had lead to the Weasleys' "blood traitor" status. When Molly and Arthur had been too emotional to carry out Fred's will, Hermione took it upon herself to prepare the cremation and notify the extended family. She helped Molly run the household and intercepted the constant owls from reporters. Throwing herself into helping the family had tired Hermione out enough that the pain of Fred's loss had become a dull ache in her exhaustion.

Taking a last deep breath, Hermione wiped her eyes and let herself into Ron's room. Ron sat at his cluttered desk, picking at a loose thread in his robes. Ginny sat beside Harry on his cot. George lay across Ron's bed, absentmindedly strumming his guitar—something he had picked up while living on his own with Fred. Ron stood up and moved toward Hermione.

"Should we go down?" he asked.

"Yes," she replied, "it's just about time." George rolled off the bed and began his way down the stairs. Ginny choked back another sob as Harry led her gently into the corridor. As Ron stepped outside with Hermione, he held out his hand; she took it quickly, glad for that small comfort.

When they arrived in the garden, the air was full of apparation pops. McGonagall turned to face them, smoothing her new Headmistress's robes.

"Mr. Weasley," she said, clasping Ron's hand, "Ronald. I cannot begin to tell you how sorry I am."

Hermione cringed; Ron simply nodded in reply. If there was one thing Ron hated, it was pity. In his current state, he had trouble telling the difference between pity and condolence, and Hermione suspected that he didn't care. He was tired of people telling him they were sorry—no amount of sorry would bring Fred back, after all.

Hermione thanked McGonagall and continued to lead Ron toward the row of chairs occupied by his immediate family. Aunts, uncles, and cousins—many of whom Hermione recognized from the wedding—settled into seats behind them. The rest of the mourners quietly filled the empty chairs scattered among the throng. Before the rows of chairs, Arthur had arranged a small display of Fred. His urn sat on a small table, surrounded by photos. At Hermione's suggestion, Arthur had placed an enlargement spell on one and set it on a large easel. The photo showed Fred and George walking away from the camera, arms about each other's shoulders. Photo Fred seemed to hear something from behind them, for he briefly turned back toward the camera and flashed a smile.

After a few seconds, George stood and walked before the group. His eyes were still rimmed red, but he managed to keep his voice strong and clear.

"I think we all know that Fred was never one for pomp and circumstance. He had a lot of joy, and I think he really did try to find it in every occasion."

Small smiles spread throughout the group.

"In his will, my brother asked us to forget about the somber ceremonies we're used to seeing at funerals. All he wanted was for anyone who still had a nice thing to say about him, to come forward and say it."

George sat back down and the crowd began to fidget. Each wanted to honor Fred's wishes, but nobody wanted to be first. At last, McGonagall stood and walked forward. She paused to gaze at the photos and wipe a tear away, then turned to face the rest of them.

"Fred and George Weasley are two of the most brilliant students I have ever had the great fortune to teach. It's no secret that they were, shall we say, _nonconformists_. Still, every prank they pulled demonstrated complex spellworking not typically seen in students their age. I'm glad they left Hogwarts when they did—I was beginning to have trouble hiding my amazement.

It's always easier to think of the twins as a pair, and that is why Fred's passing seems all the more tragic. George and Fred remained so loyal to each other that I always knew that only death could part them. I never imagined that Fred would leave us so soon. It is a great understatement to simply say that he will be missed. Fred touched so many of us in his short life, and I believe we are all the better for the laughter he brought us."

McGonagall's short speech seemed to break the ice. One by one, nearly all of the guests rose to say a few words. Distant relatives recounted tales of a young Fred, while the members of his year told of his quiet brilliance and vivacious sense of humor. Harry and Hermione spoke together, clinging to each other's arms.

"We're only children," Harry began, "and raised in the Muggle world at that."

"As early as our first year, Fred began to treat us as he did Ron and Ginny—just two more little siblings for him to torment and teach," continued Hermione.

Bill and Charlie each rose to in turn, but Percy couldn't bring himself to stand. Molly clung to Arthur, unable to speak. Reluctantly, Ron stood and faced his family.

"I'm trying to think of what to say. It seems so much of it has already been said. Fred was my brother. He could be a right pain in the arse sometimes, but he always had a kind word for us younger kids. Privately, of course. Weasley men take their reputations very seriously.

Really, I don't know what to say other than that I'm glad. I hate that Fred's gone, but I'm glad that we can all talk about what a bloody brilliant guy he was."

Before Ron could return to his seat, Ginny was up, regaling the group with tearful stories of her brother's best pranks. When Ginny sat once more, George eyed the crowd. It seemed that everyone had had their chance to share. He stood once more, this time taking his guitar with him. Quietly, George slipped the strap around his body and saluted Fred's urn. He turned back to the crowd and began to strum lightly.

"I couldn't begin to tell you all the memories I have of my brother. He's a part of me, and without him, I can't help but feel like a part of me is gone. A far more important part than my ear, I might add.

When Fred and I first started working on the store, we actually had a lot of spare time on our hands. Believe it or not, Gringotts doesn't just hand out small business loans to any old bloke. At one point, I honestly don't remember when or why, Fred decided that we should learn to play guitars. Something about picking up ladies, which never did seem to work. Nobody really cared to hear Fred play but me. Not even he cared to hear me. Still, we always thought of music as the first big project we finished as adults. We hoped that we could enjoy it together for as long as possible; we made a pact that whoever outlived the other would sing at the funeral."

The music stopped abruptly as George wiped fresh tears from his eyes.

"I thought that I'd have more time to practice."

George's strumming picked up a bit and he began,

"_Tim Finnegan lived on Watlin Street, a gentleman Irish mighty odd…" _

By the time George reached the refrain, it seemed that a calm had come over Percy. He stood quietly and joined his brother. Shaking at first, his baritone blended with George's tenor:

"_And whack fol the dah O, dance to your partner  
Welt the floor, your trotters shake,  
Wasn't it the truth I told ya, lots o' fun at Finnegan's wake!_"

That seemed to be all the encouragement they needed. The rest of the Weasleys—and everyone else who knew the folk tune—joined in. Hermione was able to learn enough to sing the refrain on the second pass. George finished with a flourish as Percy leaned against him, fresh tears coursing down his face.

Without cue, the group knew that it was time to lay Fred to rest. George lifted the urn and carried his twin back into the Burrow. The guests rose and filed in behind him. As she stood, Hermione cast a quick spell for the chairs to return to their rightful places. Molly nodded her thanks.

Once inside the Burrow, George placed the urn beside his mother's clock. Ceremoniously, Arthur stepped forward and removed Fred's face from its hand. He and George carefully fixed it to a small plaque which read, "at peace."

The rest of the day blurred past Hermione. She had helped serve lunch and now found herself alone in the kitchen. The other mourners had long since departed; the Weasleys had returned to their respective rooms to continue their grieving. Hermione pushed up her sleeves and began to run the dishwater. As she scraped leftovers into small containers, she heard a creak on the stairs.

Ron appeared moments later.

"Why are you doing that the Muggle way?" he asked.

"Clears my mind," Hermione replied.

"Want some help?"

"Sure."

Hermione began washing and handing dishes to Ron to dry. They worked in companionable silence for a short while.

"What are you thinking about?" Ron asked as he slid another plate into the cabinet.

"Catharsis," Hermione responded simply.

"What do you mean?"

Ron rested his hand on her arm gently. Hermione let the bowl she was scrubbing slip beneath the water.

"Just that," she paused to wipe a tear. "good old Fred knew that we'd need to laugh. It was fitting for him, and it made us feel better somehow. For a little bit at least." Her shoulders began to slump as Hermione let out the tears she'd been holding back for most of the day. Ron pulled her closer and held her face against his chest.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled.

"What on earth could you be sorry for?" Ron asked, dumbfounded.

"I wanted to be strong for you, especially today. You were hurting so much and I…I didn't want to burden you with my pain."

"Oh, 'Mione, don't talk like that. This is because I wanted to be alone, isn't it?"

She nodded, crying harder.

"Well, I'm sorry," Ron continued. "I really did need to be alone, but I did know how hard you were trying to be there for me. I should've said something."

"Yes, you should have," Hermione said to Ron's chest.

"Okay, well, I didn't. And I'm sorry. Do you want to talk?"

Hermione nodded.

"Well, I'll finish these up in the morning," Ron replied, motioning to the dishes. "Do you want to go upstairs?"

Nodding again, Hermione followed Ron up to his room. Ron pushed open his door softly, and, seeing that Harry wasn't there, gently pulled Hermione onto his bed. She sat with her back against the headboard, face in her hands. Ron scooted around so that he was facing her.

"Just take your time, 'Mione," he said, trying so hard to sound comforting. In truth, Hermione's tears terrified him. Whenever she began to cry, a part of him froze, completely at a loss. The worst was when he made her cry—to him it seemed that nothing he could do or say would make it better. Just this once, though, he hoped that his teaspoon could hold a little more, that he could be the grown-up, the strong one, if only for Hermione's sake.

"I was so lonely," Hermione said with a small sniffle. "It seemed as though everyone had somebody to turn to, except George and me. And I couldn't ask that of George! What a selfish thing to do! Somehow it felt selfish to ask the same of you. All the others seemed to know instinctively that they were needed—you just closed yourself off from everybody. I didn't know what to do. Everyone had their hands full with somebody else!"

Ron pulled Hermione into an embrace, letting a few tears slip into her hair.

"I'm sorry, Hermione, I really am. I needed quiet, I needed space. Now I feel like a prat."

Somehow this made Hermione cry harder.

"Don't say that! You're not a prat! You lost your brother. Who was I to ask you not to grieve in your own way?"

"_My girlfriend!" _He wanted to say, but truthfully, he didn't know if he could call her that. Despite what Lavender had thought, one kiss did not a relationship make, at least not with someone like Hermione Granger. Ron recollected his thoughts, then pushed Hermione back so that he could see her.

"You're…" he stalled. Hermione's face began to fall. "You're Hermione. You're my best friend. I knew that you were hurting, and I ignored it. I don't care what you say, that makes me a bloody arsehole."

Hermione wiped her eyes once more.

"I can't argue with that. But I do forgive you."

"If I wasn't being so self-centered earlier, what would you have wanted from me?" Ron asked, suddenly feeling more confident. Maybe he wouldn't be a completely useless wizard after all!

"I don't know," Hermione said quietly. "I suppose, just to be near while I cried."

"Well, here I am."

Hermione curled into a ball, and as Ron settled in beside her she began to sob. Until they had cried themselves into a restless sleep, Ron's hand did not leave Hermione's.

* * *

A/N2: Thanks for reading! I intend to update as often as real life allows. All feedback is appreciated, especially any editing mistakes that I've missed!


	2. Small Umbrella in the Rain

A/N: Thank you all so much for the reviews, favorites, and alerts. I was honestly surprised to get so much great feedback.

This chapter is dedicated to Noell-spyandDemeter'sdaughter. Thank you for catching my typos! (Simple system-catch an error, get a chapter dedication)

All the characters belong to J.K. Rowling, et al.

* * *

**May 13, 1998**

**8:15 p.m. **

**Marvel Loch**

The figure struggled to sit up once more. She pulled herself onto one elbow before spots exploded in front of her face and she collapsed a third time. The tangy, coppery taste of blood trickled into her gasping mouth. Snaking a hand up to her face, she examined her injuries.

_A gash across her forehead. Where had that come from?_

She moved her hand behind her and felt sticky mat of her hair.

_From the first fall, probably_.

Wheezing, the figure rolled onto her stomach, dragging herself toward her wand. Grasping it limply, she summoned her remaining strength.

"_Please. Help me."_

**May 10, 1998**

**3:47 p.m.**

**The Burrow**

Ron stomped up the stairs behind Hermione.

"Don't you leave! I'm trying to talk to you!"

Hermione whirled around, hand on the knob of Ginny's door.

"I'm not leaving yet, I'm packing. And furthermore, you aren't talking, you're shouting!"

She threw open the door and stormed toward her cot, Ron following. Startled, Ginny jumped from her bed and hurried out behind her fuming brother.

"You're mental!" Ron shouted. "You can't just pick up and leave like this!"

Hermione had pulled out a rucksack and began folding blouses to put into it.

"You've known that I was going to do this for some time. I only just found out where my parents are."

This did not seem to calm Ron.

"Yes, today! Why such a rush?"

"Because," Hermione snapped, "time is of the essence. The longer they remain under this spell the harder it will be to reverse it!"

She snapped the rucksack shut and headed for the bathroom.

"So you're going alone?" Ron cried from behind her.

"Yes!" Hermione yelled as she shoved her toilet kit into her bag.

"Mental!"

Downstairs, Ginny had found Harry coming in from the garden.

"What is going on?" she asked, wide-eyed.

Wordlessly, Harry handed her a piece of paper.

"This just came from Kingsley," he answered.

_Dear Hermione,_

_Your parents have been located. They currently reside at 883 Emu Fence Road, Marvel Loch, Western Australia. Please report to the ministry by 6:00 to access an emergency portkey to the Australian Ministry of Magic, Wizards' Division._

_Best of luck,_

_Kingsley_

Ginny stared at Harry.

"Tonight?"

He nodded.

"There is such a street as Emu Fence Road?"

"Apparently."

"No wonder Ron's off his rocker."

Harry nodded again. The two made their way into the kitchen. Ginny poured them glasses of pumpkin juice as Harry pulled two chairs up to the kitchen table. They sat and listened to the argument above. Hearing the noise, first Arthur, then Molly wandered into the kitchen, pulling up their own chairs. Without asking, Harry passed around the message.

"She's going alone, I take it?" Molly asked at last.

"Yeah," Harry replied. "She told me that this was one of those things that she really needed to do on her own."

"I don't like it—Hermione all by herself in a strange country," Molly mused.

"She's got a good head on her shoulders," countered Arthur. "Besides, both ministries are aware of the trip. She'd have good people to help her." He looked up toward the ceiling and laughed.

"I know this sounds crazy, but it's actually good to hear them fighting again."

Ginny nodded.

"It makes life seem normal again," she murmured.

"Like a step forward," added Harry.

Indeed, the Weasley family had been moving forward, bit by bit, in the days following the funeral. Bill and Fleur had returned to Shell Cottage the morning before, and just today, Percy had gone to Diagon Alley with George to start cleaning the shop. The atmosphere remained somber, but small pieces of their old lives were beginning to fit back together.

Suddenly, though inevitably, the shouting began to move down the stairs.

"And isn't Australia rather far?" cried Ron. "What if something were to happen to you?"

"Don't be ridiculous!" Hermione shouted, "Have you ever heard of a portkey accident? And anyway, I have stops in Morocco and India."

The pair had stepped into the den. Ron grabbed for Hermione's arm.

"What about when you get there? The Ministry is in Sydney!"

Hermione yanked her arm back.

"I have a map! I'm going to rent a car!"

"Can you even drive in Australia?"

"Of course you can! They do have roads, you know!"

Ron tossed Hermione's rucksack to the sofa.

"That's not what I meant and you know it!"

Hermione sighed, trying to calm herself.

"I have my license for here. That's enough for the Muggle government. They even drive on the same side of the road as we do here."

Her last comment seemed only to confuse Ron more. Hermione brushed past him and picked her rucksack back up.

"Ron, I have to go. Kingsley is expecting me."

Ron willed the tears not to fall from his eyes.

"You're sure I can't come with you?" he asked.

"I'm sure."

Quietly, Hermione walked into the kitchen to share a rushed farewell with the others. Passing back into the den she quickly kissed Ron's cheek before stepping into the fireplace.

"The Ministry!"

**May 13, 1998**

**1:15 p.m.**

**The Burrow**

Harry was trying to ignore his best friend. For three days now, Ron had skulked about the Burrow. He refused to admit that he was miffed about being left behind. He refused even more adamantly that he was anything but appropriately worried for Hermione's safety. When she had owled to let the family know of her arrival, Molly, Arthur, Harry, and Ginny had been relieved. After all, Hermione was the cleverest witch of her age. The spell should be easy—it was the international travel that had worried them. Ron, of course, would not relax until she had returned intact. Hence the pacing, sighing, snapping, and brooding.

Escaping the Burrow with Ginny had been no help, either. Ron had decided to take out his anger on Harry's budding relationship with the youngest Weasley. Somehow, he was even more insufferable than the first time Harry and Ginny had dated. They couldn't get away from him long enough to talk, let alone snog. Which, come to think of it, seemed to be Ron's entire plan.

So today, Harry was lying on his cot, reading, while Ron played chess with Charlie. Ginny sat with her back to Ron's bed, enchanting a string to play cat's cradle with her. Playing chess against Charlie seemed to calm Ron down some, for the game required his full concentration. And he could always imagine that his brother's pieces were evil dingoes, or wallaby things, or Australian Deatheaters. It made his victories all the sweeter.

This game, however, was not going very well for Ron. He was more distracted today, and Charlie was easily finding careless openings in his strategy. Charlie trounced Ron, capturing his king in record time. With a huff, Ron pushed himself up from the floor and gathered his pieces.

"I'm going for a walk."

With that, Ron stomped out of his room, down the stairs, and into the garden.

"At least he's gone," said Ginny.

"Ginerva!" tutted Charlie as he stretched out on Ron's bed.

"We're all thinking it," she retorted. "Honestly, I don't know why he's taking it like this."

"Well," began Harry, knowing that he was treading thin ice, "you weren't exactly pleased when I left you behind."

Ginny let her string continue without her.

"That was different. You were headed off to certain death_ and _breaking up with me. Hermione will be back before the week is out."

"Yes, but he loves her," interjected Charlie. "That's bound to make him batty."

Ron had never admitted this fact, but the three gathered in his room accepted it as absolute truth.

"Those two are making things so weird," added Harry. "They kiss, but nothing comes of it. Then Hermione pulls away and Ron clings harder."

"Sometimes I want to lock them up until they sort themselves out," sighed Ginny. "I mean, it couldn't possibly make things any worse than they are now."

Downstairs, Ron had returned to the garden. His frustration led to rather vigorous degnoming, much to his mother's delight. Ron took little pleasure in the chore, but instead simply tried to wear himself out. Spinning like a discus thrower, Ron tossed the gnomes well out of the Wesley garden. Ron absorbed himself in the repetitive task, allowing the anger, frustration, and fear to melt away. He still wasn't happy about the situation, but after a dozen or so tosses, he no longer wanted to hit Charlie with the chessboard. Nor did he especially want to tell off Hermione. Mostly he just wanted to know why she'd insisted on going alone. A large part of Ron still felt that he could never measure up to The Boy Who Lived and the Cleverest Witch. He didn't want to say it aloud—or even think it for too long—but he wondered if Hermione went alone because she thought that he'd slow her down. Worse, would she never love him because he wasn't smart or brave or mature enough? Ron sighed and rubbed his hands on his pantlegs.

Suddenly, a southern wind blew up around him, disturbing leafs and flower petals. For the briefest second, Ron saw a silvery wisp dart through the airstream. His heart leaped into his throat. Stumbling, Ron ran back into the Burrow and up the stairs. He burst through his bedroom door, gasping.

"Ron!" Ginny cried. She and the boys got to their feet.

"What's happened?" asked Harry.

"I…" Ron tried to control his breathing. "I'm not sure. Gin, do you know where Hermione's patronus book is?"

"On her shelf, I'd think."

"What's all this about?" demanded Charlie.

"I think…I think that Hermione sent one," Ron wheezed.

"From Australia?" asked Harry. "Is that even possible?"

"No clue," Ron answered. "That's why I want her book."

The four ran from Ron's room to Ginny's, headed for the three shelves Ginny had given Hermione. The rows of books were fit to burst, but Hermione had kept them neatly alphabetized by author.

"Is this it?" Harry asked. "_Patronati: A Practical Guide to the Patronus_."

"Looks like!" Ginny replied.

Harry began thumbing through the book, searching for an explanation of long-distance summoning. Charlie and Ginny sat on her bed, but Ron felt a pull toward Hermione's cot.

"Here!" Harry announced. "She marked it! 'With patience and practice, a patronus can be sent through any distance. One's own control is the primary determining factor,'" he read.

"So it is possible," breathed Charlie.

"Wow," Ginny whispered.

"Is that what you saw, Ron?" Harry asked. "Hermione's patronus?"

Ron turned back to the group.

"For a second, yes. A little silver otter," he replied slowly.

Dazed, Ron bent to pull up Hermione's pillow. Beneath it was the one thing Ron knew she'd never leave without—_Hogwarts, A History_. Ron picked up the book and opened its battered cover. Inside was a folded piece off parchment with his name on it.

"Ron?" Harry asked, putting a hand on his friend's shoulder.

"She left me a note. She pulled me to it."

"Do you want a minute?" Harry asked. Ron could only nod. Silently, Harry, Ginny, and Charlie left the room. Ron sank onto the cot, opening the parchment.

_Ron,_

_If you've found this, then something has happened and I need you. The portkey directions are at the bottom of this sheet._

_I'm sorry I told you not to come—I really wanted to make this right by myself. For the longest time, I've felt so guilty for what I've done. I know that I was only trying to protect my parents, but I feel like the most dreadful hypocrite. Just another witch who thinks that Muggles can't take care of themselves._

_I lied about the spell. It's much harder and much more complicated than I let on. If you're reading this, then I am in very serious danger. That's primarily why I made you stay—you're my ace in the hole. Ask Harry to explain that one._

_I hope to see you again soon._

_Your Hermione_

_Portkey to Morocco: 50p coin in Ministry's guest entrance_

_To India: Bright blue rug on clothesline across street_

_To Sydney: Gold statue to your right (elephant head)_

_To Perth: Rubbish bin directly behind you_

_After Perth, you will need to fly to my parents' cottage. I've left something to help you in locker 437. _

Slowly, Ron folded the parchment and stood. He walked out of Ginny's room to meet the other three in the hall. Ron took a deep breath and handed Harry the note.

"She thought something bad might happen. She wants me to go to Australia."

"No word about what might have happened?" asked Ginny.

"Only that the spell is a lot more dangerous than she said," Ron replied.

"Take my broom," Harry said quietly. "It's faster."

"Thanks, mate."

"Are you leaving right now?" asked Charlie.

"As soon as I can," said Ron. "Can you explain to Mum and Dad? I really don't know how long I'll be there."

"Of course," said Ginny, patting her brother on the shoulder.

Without another word, Ron returned to his room and packed his schoolbag with a few changes of clothes, his wand, and _Hogwarts, A History_. When he reemerged, Harry handed him his broom.

"Harry," Ron asked "what's a 50p coin look like?"

"It's small and silver and has '50 pence' on it."

Nodding, Ron apparated.


	3. Not While I'm Around

A/N: All the characters belong to J.K. Rowling, et al. As always, let me know if you spot mistakes (you may be rewarded...)

**

* * *

May 13, 1998**

**1:45 p.m.**

**London, England**

Ron exhaled as he popped in next to the red box. Swallowing his nausea, he took several deep breaths. He straightened, shifted Harry's broom to the other hand, and opened the…what was it? The tone box? A part of Ron longed to investigate the machinery, but he stooped to examine the floor.

"_Is that it?"_

Small, almost round. Emblazoned with "50 pence."

Ron's breath hitched. He extended one finger, barely brushing the coin. He felt an old, familiar tug in his gut as the world rushed away.

**1:50 p.m.**

**Rabat, Morocco**

The first thing Ron noticed was the heat. Oh, Merlin, the heat! From the corner of his eye, Ron spotted a bright blue flutter from across the street. His heart began to race. One step closer. One step closer to Hermione. One step closer to making her safe. Ignoring the midday traffic, Ron dashed across the street, reaching for the rug.

Another tug. Another rush.

**7:25 p.m.**

**Mumbai, India**

Ron adjusted his grip on the broom and fished Hermione's note out of his back pocket. Where to next? Golden statue. Elephant. Ron turned to his right.

He didn't know what he had been expecting, but the statue caught him by surprise. It lay next to a sack of rubbish, one of its little golden tusks broken off. He knelt to touch it.

**May 14, 1998**

**1:30 a.m.**

**Sydney, Australia**

"Almost there, almost there," Ron muttered, turning. His eyes quickly found the rubbish bin. Without bothering to inspect the impressive Australian ministry, he disappeared toward the final leg of his journey.

**May 13, 1998**

**11:33 p.m.**

At last, here he was. Here was the sad bus station in Perth. Single-mindedly, Ron pushed through the doors and began to look for the lockers. In moments, he found a sign with helpful arrows leading him toward short-term lockers 250-500. Rounding one last corner, he came face to face with a wall of tiny doors, each with its plaque denoting the locker number. Between 436 and 438, Ron noticed a small bit of paper taped up where the plaque ought to have been. Coming closer he read "Out of Order" in Hermione's neat script.

Ron peeled away the notice, then gingerly opened the tiny door. Inside, he found another note and an oddly-wrapped bundle. Sitting on one of the benches lined in front of the lockers, Ron opened Hermione's newest message.

_Ron,_

_Thank you for coming so quickly. Inside the package is half a moon stone. I have the other half. There's a strap on yours so that you can attach it to the broom._

_Your Hermione_

That was his Hermione, after all; most assuredly the cleverest witch of her age. The broken moon stone would be compelled to reassemble itself, thus Ron's piece would be able to gently guide his broom toward Hermione and the other half.

With a small smile, Ron slipped the strap around the handle, letting the stone rest just above his hand. Immediately, he felt it tug toward the northeast. Ron retraced his steps until he had found the big doors of the station again. He wondered about the lack of Muggles—the only two he'd seen were sound asleep on some of the benches. The bright face of the station clock caught Ron's eye.

"_Nearly midnight? Merlin's trousers!"_ No wonder it was so bloody empty. With renewed confidence, Ron strode out of the station.

_"Bloody hell!"_ That had been a mistake. Perth's main thoroughfare was nothing like the deserted station. Cars whizzed by, honking and squealing. Ron realized that as a ginger holding a rather large broomstick, he was drawing far too much attention to himself. He eyed his surroundings frantically; after a moment he noticed an alley running between the station and a taller building beside it. As casually as he could, Ron walked toward the alley.

Once in the shadows and out of view of the street, Ron mounted the broom. Slowly, silently, he rose into the air. The moonstone continued to nudge him northeast, but Ron rose straight up, higher and higher. He needed to fly further up than usual to avoid notice. His teeth chattered as he rose; he hadn't thought he would need to stay so far in the atmosphere. At last, Ron felt that he was safely out of sight and pointed the broom northeast.

Harry's broom lapped up the distance. Only a few minutes out, the lights faded, and Ron felt safe enough to drop to a more reasonable altitude. All the while, the stone pulled him northeast. For a moment, Ron began to enjoy the flight. Harry's broom handled beautifully, so much more smoothly than his own. Now that he was out of the upper atmosphere, the wind blowing through his hair was warm. Below him, the land stretched from city into desert, so different from England. With his time in the air, Ron considered his sudden travels. Before tonight he had only ever been around the U.K. and once to Egypt with his family. Today, in the space of a few hours, he had visited three new countries—on three different continents, no less.

Ron's mind wandered back to Hermione, and his heart flew into his throat. How close was she? Was she hurt? What had happened with the spell? If Hermione had been this worried—if she had lied about the danger—it must be connected to some truly dark magics. Ron had never known Hermione to really struggle with any spell; given enough time to study, she could master anything. Hell, her only trouble spot was Divination, and Ron was suspicious that the subject couldn't actually be taught. The years they'd spent with Madame Trelawney were probably just some elaborate screening process.

_ "What has she gotten us into?"_

Ron tried to shake away his fear. Hermione would be all right. He would get there, and it would be scary, but she would be all right. After all they had been through, there was no way she wouldn't. Then Ron would take her home to the Burrow, winding back through Sydney, India, and Morocco. They would have a lovely holiday. They would come back as more than friends—more than friends who kissed once and hadn't yet dealt with it.

_"I'll tell her I love her. Under the stars in Sydney. Or at some really old temple-thingy in India. Or I'll buy her a blue rug like the portkey in Morocco and tell her then."_

From the north, Ron spotted a sickly green light. The moonstone pulled harder, and he corrected his path. He urged the broom faster, hoping to find the source of the light. It grew stronger, and the air cracked with energy. Ron began to feel uneasy. There was magic here: dark, powerful magic. As he drew closer, he spotted lighting striking within the glow. About twenty feet from the ground, he saw two figures suspended in a closed loop of light, lightening, and clearly dark magic.

_"Hermione, what did you do?"_

Suddenly, the moonstone tugged downward, and Ron began a rapid descent. As soon as his feet touched ground, he had ripped the stone from the broom and ran forward, following its pull. The stone had brought him to a sparsely wooded area that suddenly opened on a field. Here was the source of the light: Hermione.

She was sprawled on the ground, unmoving. Though separate from the lightning storm holding the figures, she glowed with the same green energy. Ron broke into a sprint, but a few feet from her body, a bolt of lightning knocked him to the ground. How had Hermione done that? And why? Hadn't she gone to great trouble to get his help? Ron's heart twisted in panic.

_"_Had _she even done it?"_

Ron stood again and drew his wand. This time he approached more slowly, but again, a few feet from Hermione, the lightning lashed out at him.

"_Impedimenta_," Ron cried, stepping to the side of the now-slowing bolt. He knealt beside Hermione.

She looked awful, and for a moment, Ron feared that she was dead. Her hair was streaked with blood, and one of her arms was twisted painfully beside her. One hand lay palm up, and Ron could see severe burns there. His breath caught until she coughed and opened one bloodshot eye.

"Ron?"

Her voice sounded painfully hoarse.

"I'm here," he soothed, pulling her carefully to sit up in his arms.

"Ron, I—" Her voice was cut off by a fit of coughing.

"You know what, don't worry," Ron said. "Just tell me what to do."

"Stop the spell. Keep them asleep and take them inside."

Ron looked behind Hermione and spotted the cozy home across the clearing. Beyond it was a long deserted road. He lay Hermione back down, then stood and raised his wand.

The lightning struck toward him, and he felt the power of it buzz through his hand. It was too strong, and for a second, he considered dropping the wand. Ron steeled himself and adjusted his stance.

"_FINITE INCANTATUM_!" he cried. At first, nothing happened. Then, in a rush, the green light faded into the dark of night. The figures began to fall. "_Ruitardum_!" Ron yelled as he ran to them. The figures slowed suddenly, then floated gently to the ground. Without another thought, he said, "_Quiesco_."

His first two tasks complete, Ron passed the sleeping bodies and continued to the house. The door was open, and he stepped inside, quickly getting his bearings. Front room. Small hall. Bathroom to the left, an office on the right. At the end of the hall, Ron found the bedroom. Leaving the doors open behind him, Ron hurried back to the sleeping figures. For the first time, he looked closely at them. As he thought, it was Hermione's parents; he sighed in relief, for they appeared to have escaped the botched spell unscathed.

Ron thought about how to get all three Grangers back into the house. If he levitated them all it once, it would be difficult to get them all through the door frame. Even two would be pushing it. He decided to levitate Mr. Granger and carry his wife inside. Once they were settled in the bedroom, he would take care of Hermione.

Hurrying back to Hermione, he bent and covered her with his jacket. She groaned, but seemed to be asleep.

"I'll be right back," he promised.

Returning to Hermione's parents, Ron eased her mother into his arms. Audrey Granger was a slight woman of average height, so Ron found no problem using his wand in one hand as he carried her. With a quick spell, Dennis rose a few feet from the ground, and Ron was able to direct him into the house. He lay Audrey on the bed before releasing Dennis and covering the couple with a light coverlet from the end of the bed.

Turning, Ron tried to find a place to put Hermione. She needed somewhere to rest, but first he needed space to clean her up and heal her wounds. Inside the little office, he discovered a low bed done up with pillows to look like a sofa. He pulled the pillows from the bed, leaving one at the head. Ron realized that he would need towels for the blood, so he crossed the hall and began investigating the bathroom. In a little closet, he found a neat pile of dark towels. Beneath it, he spotted a small tin labeled "First Aid." Considering his limited healing skills, Ron grabbed it as well. In the kitchen, he found a large bowl and filled it with warm water from the tap. The kitchen especially was full of fascinating Muggle appliances, but Ron had no time to inspect them. He returned his supplies to the office, then ran back to Hermione.

She was still asleep, though she twitched and writhed as he lifted her. Ron was amazed by how light she was. Had she been eating? Though the coppery scent of blood permeated her hair, it still smelled of her shampoo. Ron couldn't help but smile at the familiar scent—a warm, nutty raspberry. Hermione turned her face toward his chest as he walked. She winced, but left it there. Her gashed forehead rested directly above his heart. As he brought her over the threshold, Ron kicked the door shut behind him.

Hermione had done most of the healing during their quest, so Ron tried to follow her model as he began to care for her. After laying her one the bed, Ron removed her trainers and socks and covered her lower body with a blanket. Next, he carefully peeled her dirty, blood-spattered cardigan from her body. Beneath it she wore a sleeveless shirt. With relief, Ron noticed that her arms seemed unharmed. Dipping a washcloth into the bowl, Ron wiped the grime away from Hermione's burned hands. With his wand, he tried to heal the burns. Most of the angry red marks faded to pink, but Ron wasn't sure that it was enough. Rummaging through the first aid kit, he found a packet of burn ointment and spread it over her palms. He wrapped her hands in bandages he found in the kit, leaving her fingers free.

Looking at the dirt and blood caked around her head, Ron realized that it might be best to wash Hermione's hair. Again, he picked her up, this time bringing her into the bathroom. He placed a towel along the edge of the tub, then positioned the base of Hermione's head against it, letting her hair cascade into the tub behind her. Ron turned the faucet and, as the water warmed, found a larger bowl in the kitchen. When the water was warm enough, he filled the bowl and gently poured it over Hermione's hair.

Her eyes flew open, but she didn't move. Ron tried to smile confidently.

_"Be brave, be brave, be brave. She needs you!"_

"Hi," he a tried.

"Hi yourself," she mumbled.

"I'm just trying to wash the dirt out of your hair," he explained.

"There's a gash…back of my head," Hermione replied. Ron nodded and refilled the bowl. As he poured the water over her hair, he watched it run brown and red into the drain. After the fourth bowlful, though, the water seemed clear. Ron turned off the tap.

"I'm going to go get some bandages from the other room. Then, I'm going to turn you around so that I can see the cut," he explained to Hermione. Eyes closed once more, she merely nodded.

Once he returned, bandages in hand, Ron helped Hermione kneel facing the tub. He parted her wet hair, looking for the gash. When he found it, he was relieved to see that it had mostly scabbed.

"I won't even need the bandages," he told Hermione happily. She did not respond. "Hermione?"

She had passed out again. Working quickly, Ron used his wand to speed up the scabbing and healing. Then he picked her up once more and returned her to the office daybed. Once she was again under the covers, Ron wiped the dirt from her face and repeated the healing spell on her forehead. Since her hair was still wet, he wrapped the towel loosely around her head and pulled the blanket up to her chin.

Then, at last, Ron rocked onto his heels and began to cry.

* * *

A/N 2: As expected, my real life has robbed me of my writing time-at least fun writing. So, I pose to you a question: shorter chapters more frequently, or longer chapters when I can manage them? Thanks, as always, for the amazing feedback!


	4. Enchantment Passing Through

A/N: First, let me apologize for the gap between this chapter and the previous one. I've put up a full(er) explanation on my profile, but in short, I was very ill for several weeks. Second, thank you to everyone! Each time an alert showed up in my inbox, it helped push me toward finishing this. Honestly, without your support, I'd have let this story fall by the wayside. So again, thank you.

Special props to Miss Lyra for noticing the confusing time changes during Ron's journey in the last chapter. Not technically a mistake, but I could've explained it better. Date lines are tricky things!

All the characters belong to J.K. Rowling, et al. As always, let me know if you spot mistakes (you know you want to...)

* * *

Ron didn't know how long he had been crying, but at last he seemed to be out of tears. His breath hitching, he crawled closer to Hermione's sleeping form. He wanted to take her hand or caress her hair, but he was afraid to hurt her further. Gently, he placed one hand against her arm. She was warm. Relieved, Ron laid his head on the bed beside her shoulder.

With a start, Ron realized that he'd left all of his belongs outside. Not only that, but he'd rather torn the house apart. And he was hungry. Shaking slightly, Ron stood and retrieved his wand.

"_Lumos_," he whispered.

Outside, Ron retraced his steps, gathering his things as he went. Harry's broom was still in the wood, his schoolbag tossed haphazardly beside it. Where Hermione had lain, Ron found the moonstones, as well as Hermione's wand. Rather than head back inside, Ron swept the perimeter to see if she had left anything else outside. Around the front of the house was a small car pulled carefully off the road. Peering inside, Ron noticed Hermione's rucksack. She'd probably need that. Ron jiggled the door handle and pulled out her bag. He felt a bit like a pack mule now with a bag slung over each shoulder, Harry's broom in one hand, and his wand in the other. Hermione's wand he had stashed in his back pocket.

Ron tried the front door, but finding it locked, he went around back, again kicking the door closed behind him. Back in the office, Ron put their bags down on the floor and leaned Harry's broom against the wall. He placed Hermione's wand on the bed beside her pillow and put his own back in his pocket. As quietly as he could, he began to tidy up the first aid kit and towels. Not sure of where (or how!) to do Muggle laundry, Ron made a small pile in the hall. Quietly, he took the bowls back to the kitchen and stacked them in the sink.

Once in the kitchen, Ron's hunger made itself known as loudly as it could. Ron turned around himself slowly, inspecting the kitchen. Wizards had refrigerators and ranges, though he'd never seen any as shiny as the Grangers'. Lined up along the backsplash were a number of appliances that left Ron completely baffled. Leaving his curiosity for when Hermione would wake, he began searching for something he could cook. In a tall cupboard, he found several cans of beef ravioli in tomato sauce. Ron hadn't the faintest idea what ravioli was, but he liked the other two ingredients on the can! He pulled three off the shelf and rummaged through the kitchen for a pot and a can opener.

Half an hour later, Ron was pleasantly stuffed. He checked on Hermione, but she was still asleep. With nothing else to do and renewed energy from his supper, Ron ran dishwater and cleaned up.

_"If only Mum could see this."_

True, Molly Weasley accused her youngest son of lazy messiness, but it seemed that her lectures about guest manners had sunk in. Ron hated to inconvenience the Grangers at all. And, since he hadn't really talked to Hermione's parents in…well, ever, he wanted to make a good impression.

_"Be the kind of bloke they'd like around their daughter."_

With the washing up finished, Ron retrieved his schoolbag from the office and decided to take a quick shower. The warm water felt heavenly on his shoulders, and soon Ron began to feel drowsy. He stepped out of the shower, dried, and put on a fresh pair of boxers and a tee shirt. Depositing his dirty clothes on his new pile, Ron returned to the office. He found an extra blanket and arranged the pillows on the floor beside Hermione. Lying on his side so that he could see her, Ron soon drifted into sleep.

It was not the daylight peeping through the windows, nor the birds singing in the yard that woke Ron, but the foot in his back.

"Oi!," he cried sleepily. "Whatcher problem?" Hermione hopped gingerly over him, then sat on the floor by his head.

"Sorry," she murmured hoarsely. Her pained voice was enough to wake Ron fully. He sat up beside her, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"Are you okay?" he asked. Hermione drew her knees into her chest and nodded.

"Throat hurts," she said at last. Panic flashed across her face. "Ron, where are my parents?"

"Asleep" he replied, sitting up. "You asked me to put them under. They're in the bedroom."

Hermione nodded and buried her face in her palms, sighing.

Questions raced through Ron's mind—_what happened? Are you sick? Do you need help? Did I do something wrong?_ Before he could decided on one, Hermione coughed.

"Thanks," she said softly.

"Of course!" Ron replied. "You'd do the same for me. More, even!"

Hermione had to smile at that.

"I've just made such a mess of things here. And I made you come all this way without giving you a reason." her weak voice trailed off. "Thanks," she said again.

"You're welcome," Ron answered. She looked so weak and thin. Had it really only been days since she'd left? Ron's mind shifted into overdrive—_what did she need now?_ "Are you hungry?" he asked. Again Hermione nodded.

"I think I want to wash first, though," she answered. "You only got the dirt out of my hair." Ron's mind strayed to the _other_ parts of her that were probably filthy. Ears red, he stood quickly.

"You remember where the loo is? Good. Here's your bag." Hermione stood slowly and took the rucksack from Ron's outstretched hand. With a slight limp, she padded across the hall. Stepping into the bathroom, Hermione flicked on the light and pulled the door closed. Gingerly, she peeled off her dirty clothes. She turned the hot tap as far as it would go and stepped into the tub, pulling the curtain closed behind her.

Within her small steam sanctuary, Hermione placed her hands against the wall and leaned forward to allow the hot water to rush over her face. It stung and burned, but Hermione didn't care. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she gulped and gasped. The too hot water was no match for what she already felt. _"It didn't work"_ she thought mournfully. _"I've failed them."_ The dirty water ran down the drain, dried blood mixed with dust. Hermione raised her head to look up into the spray of the shower head. Her entire body began to shake with sobs. _"I want my mum." _Hermione's hands slid down the wall as she knelt under the water. _"I want my dad."_

While Hermione showered, Ron pulled on his jeans and rummaged through his bag for a fresh shirt. Pulling it over his head, Ron headed straight for the kitchen. Something just wasn't right with Hermione. Of course, Ron hadn't expected her to wake with a smile on her face and her wounds healed. Still, he could sense that something was off about her. She was in pain, yes, but she seemed upset as well. Wouldn't she be happy that Ron was there? That she was safe now? That he could, perhaps, help her with the spell? In Ron's eyes, the worst was over. Now, everything would be all right.

Silently, Ron thanked Hermione's parents for leaving their kettle where he could see it. If Hermione was this upset, he knew that he should take a page from his mother's book and make her some tea. The last thing he needed to do was go banging about the cupboards looking for a kettle. Carefully, he pulled the top off and filled it with water. The stove was unlike anything he'd ever seen—as far as stoves went. His family's range had little burners that his mother lit by magic. Ron remembered Hermione saying that some Muggle stoves were the same way, except you when you turned the knobs, it lit itself. This one had no burners. Instead, the stovetop was completely smooth with small squares marked on it. Ron set the kettle back on its square, turned the matching knob, and hoped for the best.

That done, Ron began checking the tall cupboard for tea. In a few seconds, he found four little canisters that seemed to be filled with tea bags. At least, he could tell that three of them were; these were marked Earl Grey, Breakfast, and Chamomile. The fourth was filled with something called Chai, which smelled like tea, but with spices. Ron brought all four canisters into the kitchen with him. He hadn't a clue which kind Hermione would want. As he set them on the counter, Ron spotted a small rack with mugs on it. He grabbed two and put a bag of Earl Grey in one.

Hermione tiptoed into the kitchen as the kettle began to whistle. Wordlessly, she sat at the counter and watched Ron prepare the tea. She smiled briefly as he bent his head and carefully poured the boiling water into the mugs. Ron turned the stove knob to "off" and replaced the kettle. Tentatively, he pushed the tea-less mug to Hermione.

"I didn't know which kind you'd want."

Hermione debated for a moment, then pulled a bag out of the Chai canister and dropped it into her mug.

"What is chai, anyway?" Ron asked.

"Tea from India," she replied. "It's becoming very popular around the world now."

As she spoke, Ron tried not to cringe; Hermione's voice sounded so raw. Licking his lips, he pulled his teabag from the mug and tossed it in the bin.

"Did you have a good shower?" he asked, ears reddening. _"Right Weasley, ask her if she enjoyed being naked and wet. Maybe she'll tell you the good bits. Or just slap you for being so pervy."_

Hermione nodded and blew steam from her mug. Ron brought his to his lips, but stopped to look at her from across the brim. Her hair was damp and tousled, probably form a towel. The gash across her forehead had faded to a pale pink scar. From the way she held her mug, Ron guessed that that her hands didn't hurt anymore. What struck him, however, were her eyes. They looked tired and hurt and were rimmed with red. Clearly she had been crying. _"About what?"_

They sipped their tea in silence, though Ron was bursting with questions. Hermione appreciated that he was letting her take her time in telling him what had happened. In truth, she was still trying to piece it together herself. Everything that had happened after she's fallen the first time was jumbled. She couldn't tell what had actually happened and what she had imagined. Well, if Ron was here, she knew for certain that she had been able to send a long-distance patronus. _That_ had sapped a lot of her energy.

"I didn't know what to make you for breakfast" Ron said at last. "Last night, I made myself some ravioli, but I didn't know if you'd want that. Plus," he added wryly, "I'm not sure how everything works."

"That's fine," replied Hermione.

Ron released a breath he hadn't know he was holding. Her voice sounded much better now that she'd had something to drink.

"There's not much in the fridgerator," Ron explained. "I think I saw a couple of eggs. Do you want an omelette?"

Hermione smiled and nodded.

"Okay, but you've got to help me with this stove-thing. Should I just put a pan on one of the squares?"

"Yes. It's an electric, and a fancy one at that." Hermione cleared her throat. "Remember, I told you about gas ranges?"

Ron nodded as he pulled the egg carton from the refrigerator.

"Well, gas ones produce heat by lighting a fire. Electric ones have a coil that gets hot when you turn it on. And this one…seems to have a coil that's built into the top of the stove."

Ron nodded again and pulled a smaller bowl from the cupboard he'd found last night. He began cracking eggs and mixing them with a fork. It was really nice of Hermione to explain the stove to him. Even though she felt so terrible, she'd known that it would puzzle him. Ron paused for a moment to watch her now. She had slumped forward, leaning most of her arms on the counter, the mug still in her hands. Merlin, she looked miserable. Ron quickly rediscovered the drawer full of pots and pans and put a small skillet on the oven. While it warmed up, he started checking the smaller drawers, looking for a spatula. Finding it, he dumped the eggs into the pan.

As Ron watched and folded the eggs, Hermione began checking the cupboards for plates. By the time she found them and put them on the counter, Ron had turned from the stove, skillet in hand. They ate, again in silence, until Hermione began to laugh. Ron dropped his fork. _"Has she gone completely mental?"_

"What's so funny?" Ron managed to ask. Hermione grinned, and his heart began to race. _"That's the first time I've seen her smile since the battle. Oh, Merlin, what a beautiful smile."_

"Oh," Hermione said, "it's just that I was wondering why in the world you made me keep cooking when you could make a perfectly good breakfast."

"I dunno. You just acted like you wanted to do the cooking. And despite what Harry said, you're quite good at it, so I guessed that you liked it."

"Well, I did like it sometimes. Mostly though, I only cooked because I assumed that you and Harry couldn't. Oh me of little faith!"

With that, Ron began to laugh as well. He and Hermione continued eating, this time the silence more companionable. When they both had finished and Ron had stacked their plates in the sink, Hermione sighed.

"What's wrong?" Ron asked. Hermione stood and wrapped her arms around herself.

"I want to see my parents."

"You didn't see them yet?" Ron was incredulous. "I figured you'd already had a peek. Come on, they're back here." He took Hermione's hand and led her down the hall to the bedroom. Quietly, they opened the bedroom door and stepped inside.

Hermione's parents lay on their backs above the covers, looking for all the world as though they were napping. Hermione took a tentative step toward them, then knelt beside her mother, taking her hand in her own.

"What did you use?" she asked, her eyes not leaving her mother. Ron sat at the edge of the bed.

"_Quiesco_" he replied. Hermione's furrowed brow softened.

"Thank you."

Ron shifted so that he was closer to her.

"I figured that you wanted them to sleep peacefully, not be knocked out."

"Yes, that's exactly what I wanted." Hermione turned to face Ron and, letting go of her mother's hand, brushed a lock of his hair from his eyes. Ron suddenly felt quite hot all over and was reasonably suspicious that his ears were growing redder by the second. Hermione stood and moved to sit beside Ron.

"I suppose I should tell you what happened" she said.

"Yeah, you really should" Ron replied with a faint smile.

"When I first came up with this plan, I had decided that if I survived and could find my parents, I would simply reverse my original spell," Hermione began. "Altering their memories was very hard to do—the kind of spellcasting I'd only imagined. Still, if I was successful, reversing it could be as simple as a _finite _spell."

"Really?" Ron was shocked. A spell that difficult should've been harder to undo.

"Yes, really" Hermione replied. "The only problem was that if I simply reversed the spell, my parents would lose the memories they'd made since I changed them. They'd wake up not knowing why they were here, or how much time had passed. At first I thought that it would be all right, that they would simply adjust to their new timeframe.

"But the longer I thought about it, the worse that made me feel. I'd meddled with them once, tore away their memories. Could I really do it again? Why shouldn't they remember their time as Wendell and Monica? I'm sure it was a happier time. Even if it wasn't, I didn't want to take it away from them. So, I had to devise a spell that would allow me to integrate both sets of memories. A few days before Shaklebolt owled me, I figured it out.

"Still, there was a pretty big problem with my spell. In order for it to be successful, I had to let the magic itself have some control. To work, my parents had to be asleep and floating. I couldn't concentrate on both of those _and _the integration spell. But if I gave up some of my control to the greater magic, the spell itself would keep them suspended."

Ron had followed Hermione's story well enough until she had started to talk about the magic. _"Let the magic have control? The spell itself kept them in the air?"_ This just didn't make as much sense to Ron. As he understood it, magic was something a wizard created from within himself. Stronger magic was created by a more talented wizard. If a spell was too hard, you just couldn't do it; he'd very rarely heard of anyone working with magic they were too weak to handle. And if the spell to fix her parents' memories wasn't a levitation spell, then how could it keep them in the air? Hermione talked about magic as though it were something outside of her, instead of something she had made.

"I thought I could handle it, if I could just concentrate completely" Hermione continued. "The trip was easy, and when I arrived, it was simple to get my parents in position. I started the spell and for a few minutes, it seemed like everything would work out. The integration spell was developing exactly as it was supposed to, and it was keeping my parents up. But just when I thought I was making progress, I lost control of the spell. The magic was too strong—it threw me away from my parents and closed itself."

"What on earth are you saying?" asked Ron. _"This still doesn't make any sense!"_

"A bolt of lightning flew out of the magic surrounding my parents and knocked me down. By the time I got up again, the magic looped completely around my parents. I couldn't break into it, so I couldn't control it. Then I called for you."

"Right, your ace in the hole" Ron replied. "What does that even mean?"

"Harry didn't tell you?"

"There wasn't time. I left home about half an hour after I saw your patronus, which by the way, how the hell did you do that?"

Hermione gave him a small smile.

"I'd read about long-distance sending when Harry first started teaching to create a patronus. I practiced a lot after you left, when Harry was asleep."

Ron felt his heart drop into his stomach.

"Oh."

"Anyway, an 'ace in the hole' is like a secret weapon."

Ron nodded. They sat, again in silence, as Ron continued to mull over her story. He believed what Hermione had said, but he still couldn't quite wrap his mind around the kind of magic that she had described. Finally, he had to ask.

"Hermione, if you lost control of the spell, how did the magic keep going?"

Hermione furrowed her brows and shrugged.

"I'm not sure. The way I understand it, I didn't make that spell. I didn't create the magic. It was more like…like this magic was locked away, and I created a door that it could come through. Once I lost control, I was too weak to shut the door again."

"But I shut it" Ron replied.

"Yes," Hermione answered. "That's why you're my ace. I knew that if something happened, you'd be strong enough and fast enough to stop it."

"Why not Harry?" _"Please, say it's because you fancy me. Say it's because you know how I feel about you."_

"Harry would think too much," Hermione responded. "I knew that you would follow your gut instinct, not waste time wondering what had happened.

"_Or it could be because of that."_ Despite Hermione's faith in him, Ron felt a little inadequate. Hermione wanted him because he was impulsive. Because he didn't think before he acted. She didn't need someone to save her or take charge of the situation. She just needed someone to stop the spell. She needed someone who didn't consider the consequences. And boy, did he fit her bill. Ron shook his head, trying to clear those thoughts form his mind.

"So, do you want me to stop it if you lose control again?"

Hermione smiled. _"Of course he knows that there's no question about trying again."_

"Actually," Hermione answered, "This time, I need you to help me cast the spell. If you can handle the sleeping and levitating, I can use all my power to control the integration."

Ron took her hand.

"I can do that," he replied seriously. "When do you want to start?"

"At dusk," Hermione answered. "The magic is strongest just after sunset, and it'll give me time to rest."

For the rest of the day, Hermione slept, waking only to eat. Ron, on the other hand, explored the small sitting room at the front of the house. The television was easy enough to operate, though the programs didn't always make much sense to him. Lying on the Grangers' small sofa, he soon drifted off. When Hermione shook him awake, the sun had started to slip below the horizon.

"Are you ready?" she asked.

"Just tell me what to do," Ron replied.

"First we have to get them outside."

Returning to the bedroom, Ron lifted Mrs. Granger in his arms, while Hermione levitated her father. They brought the two of them to the yard behind the house and gently set them on the dry grass.

"Mind walking me through this?" Ron asked.

"On my signal, levitate them and back up. I'll start the integration spell. Once it's done, I'll stop it, and you can bring them back to the ground" Hermione answered.

"Simple enough. What if something goes wrong?"

"Nothing will go wrong" Hermione said firmly. "Go ahead and raise them when you're ready."

Ron raised his wand.

"_Wingardium leviosa_!"

Hermione's parents lifted gently off the ground and hovered just below Ron's eyes. Keeping his wand raised, he backed away from Hermione until he was standing just outside the back door of the cottage. Satisfied with his distance, Hermione began the integration spell. At first, Ron was confused, for Hermione just seemed to be walking in a circle around her parents. If he listened very closely, he could hear her murmuring in a language he couldn't understand. At last, she stopped in the place where she had begun, raised her arms and cried,

"_Cicalisu_!"

Where Hermione had walked, the ground began to glow. Slowly, the yellow-green circle of light rose and surrounded her parents. The circle began to spin, gaining momentum and losing light. In a few moments, it seemed as though the Grangers were simply floating within a whirlwind. Hermione cried out again,

"_Smrti_!

Hermione flicked one wrist toward the whirlwind and suddenly a pure white light shot from her hands. She seemed to pour the white light from her body into the whirlwind.

_"This isn't anything like the last time!" _Hermione thought _"This is how it was supposed to be!"_

Ron gasped in shock.

_"She's not using her wand!"_

Around them, the air began to whisper—names, words, sounds. Hermione smiled.

"_It really is working."_

She continued pouring the light into the whirlwind, watching as it grew yellow, then green, then blue. The bright blue intensified as the whispers grew louder.

"Green, green grass—dear can you get the mail—what's this?—you can't be serious!—open wide—she's perfect—I'm not a hygienist, you moron—the wind whispers, whistles—where are you go—an owl, of all thin—where?—when?—come back!—not like this!—wake up, Hermione, wake up—can you grab milk on your—we have got to do something about that receptioni—what do you mean, you can't tell us?—the garden smells so sweet at twilight—"

Hermione tried not to be overcome as her parents' memories rushed past her. She tried to watch the light, waiting for the right moment. It changed rapidly, swinging from blue to pale pink and back again. Suddenly, her hands began to burn and the light turned a deep violet. Struggling to stay on her feet, Hermione called out the final word.

"_Sumat_!"

A bolt of lightning flew from the whirlwind and struck Hermione. This time, she held her ground, letting her light pour into the spinning air. The whispers reached a fever pitch until, in one voice, they cried out,

"_SVA_!"

Then the voices fell silent, and the whirlwind began to slow. Watching carefully, Ron guided the Grangers until they lay on the ground once more. Hermione had stopped sending light into the whirlwind, and once her parents were safely on the ground, it too stopped. Still, Hermione glowed.

_"Merlin, she looks like a goddess_."

Hermione turned to face Ron, and the light faded away. She smiled, but began to sway. Ron raced forward, barely making it to her side before she fainted into his arms. For the second night in a row, Ron carried his Hermione into the cottage and tucked her into the office day bed. Again, he brought her parents into the house, and again he settled in to sleep on the floor. This time, however, he knew that when he woke, the world would be whole again.

* * *

A/N2: I did my best to bring you a nice, long chapter. As far as I can tell, updates should be more regular form now on.


End file.
